Impostor
by snippetcentric
Summary: Anders and Fenris scheme on how to steal Lady Hawke, over alcohol. Some Merrill x f!Hawke; One-shot.


A/N: I told myself, "you need a breather". This is the result. Prepare for some very phonetic spelling.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, EA and Bioware does. Derivative work is mine.

* * *

><p>"Thee nerve of das witch!" Fenris slovenly spat then emptied the frothy beverage from his mug. "Flauhting like das," his dark brows knitted as he drew his arm back, ready to throw his mug at the dirty walls of the Hanged Man. Anders halted him in time, grabbing the elf's arm and firmly guided it back to their table.<p>

"Khelm dow, yeh'll git threwn oat with tha nonsense en aye dun want to trink aloon." Anders slurred, obviously inebriated. They were all that's left of the gang after Aveline had sequestered Hawke, Merrill, and Sebastian for her Dock patrol. Varric had already withdrawn to his suite for the night and Isabela had found 'company' in the person of an Antivan sailor.

"Beesides," Anders continued, "Is moore like Hawke's the one flauhtin. Findin' e'ery excuse to touch tha blithering twit en'en M'rill pretendin to be shy en blushy. Pfft!" he snarled, slumping chest and arms on the table. "Ge' a blighted room."

Fenris waved his empty mug to Norah, the resident waitress. "Yaah. Even clothing 'er damn eyes ayl waiden fuhr Hawke to feed 'er. Whatshe, a child?" He nodded to the waitress while his mug was being refilled. The elf took a gulp as soon as Norah was done then picked up his drunken tirade. "How flaming red she wahs when Hawke's feehnger stayed onner lips? I b-bet she sucked on it. Hussy!"

Anders's eyes glazed. "En how Hawke brought the same feehnger bahck to her beautahfull pink liipsss, licken' it ayl looking longinly ah me..."

"No," Fenris kicked Anders's foot under the table. "She wuz looky ah _me._"

"You must've bee drunk, pissant." Anders huffed. "Awke was looky at may! Assoon as she's done wee thas wide-eyed wench she comma runnin to me." He finished his brew, then brought the mug to his chest. "I, who tooly derve her."

The pair was soon engaged in a staring match, their hazy alcohol-addled eyes barely keeping themselves open.

"Feh, who we kidding," Fenris disengaged with a scowl. "She wohs looky assatt witch." He rested his forehead down on his arm on the table. "What she see in thaas witch anway, they ant even duhn it yet..."

"Stow being a bra!" Anders snapped at his companion then proceeded to drink from Fenris's mug. "At least yer an ellhf, ewe lot look all thee same tah me. Wee some chainmail en rags you couth pass as M'rrill." The man looked at their empty mugs while blinking heavily. "Norah! Lee tha entire picture 'ere," Anders ordered while slamming several silver coins on the tattered table.

Norah only shook her head and left the half-filled pitcher on their table. Anders clumsily refilled their mugs, spilling some precious brew while doing so.

Fenris tilted his head up to look at Anders. He smiled weakly. "Yew think?"

"Deafenly," Anders replied then took several gulps from his mug. "In fuck, I hah some chainmail en rags in my clink." He put his arm over Fenris's shoulder and snickered evilly into his ear. "Then you sneakin to 'er behroom and sehrprise 'er wither tool. Tha'll break 'em ahp!"

Fenris sluggishly smiled and heaved himself off the table, almost pushing off Anders from his chair with the effort.

"Good idear," the elf caught Anders by his feathered pauldron, then pulled him up to his feet. "Lesh do it before Hawke ges home."

"Yesh, yesh," the two men stumbled towards the Hanged Man's exit, barely supporting each other upright as they walked. "Thennen sh open tha door, you pr'tend to be M'rrill, widda sausage!"

The pair laughed their way out of the door, and the rest of the tavern's patrons sighed with welcome relief.

* * *

><p>Anders slowly opened his eyes, a steady stream of sunlight trickled into his vision as he does. With every bit of light entering his eyes he felt a swelling headache drill into his forehead. "Ugh, Maker," he muttered, "How many pints did I have last night?" He shifted from his cot and realized there was an unfamiliar weight upon him.<p>

"Shit."

Anders sprang off his cot, dragging the blanket with him. He was greeted with a drowsy Fenris, dressed in a chainmail shirt with filthy rags hanging over the steel. The elf was naked waist down. He then looked at himself, and soon realized he was dressed even less.

Fenris looked confused for a moment when he looked down at himself. "Why am I..." his gaze then landed on Anders, frowning while he didn't seem able to comprehend why Anders was naked before him.

Then he remembered their plan the previous night.

"Shit."

Anders covered himself with his poor blanket and looked away from the elf. "Let us never speak of this again."

Fenris nodded, pale-faced, while covering his bottom half with a pillow.

"Agreed."


End file.
